Title: What Hurts The Most

Rating: T for the following - character death and a few curse words thanks to Bakura.

Pairing: implied Thiefshipping, also known as Bakura x Marik. (which means this fic contains hints of shounen-ai/yaoi/boy x boy. Don't read if you dislike that)

I own nothing. All characters in this story (aside from the doctors, nurses, and 'bullies') belong to Kazuki Takahashi and no one else.

Warning(s): Character death and slight language, along with a slightly OOC Bakura. Also, this might be triggering to those who have lost a loved one and/or those who have had to 'pull the plug'. If that is triggering to you, please don't read this. I don't want to upset anyone. Also, my condolences. They are in a better place, I promise.

Universe: Slightly altered canonical. The yamis have their own bodies, but that is the only notable difference.

Notes: I cried during the period of time I wrote this; I shall not lie. So, if you cry, don't feel bad. It isn't that sad though. Dedicated to those who have lost loved ones. I lost both of my parents in a car accident, so this is also dedicated to them. Love you, mom and dad!

(This is based on the song What Hurts The Most by Rascal Flatts. It's a great, beautiful song, and I invite you to listen to it, but I don't own it.)

Enjoy.


What Hurts The Most

Crimson eyes scanned the carefully packed dirt, the beautiful gravestone, and the red roses. Bakura never would've thought he'd live long enough to see a grave stone with the name Marik Ishtar on it.

But he had lived long enough.

And he hated it.

"You bastard..." Bakura mumbled. His eyes never left that bouquet of roses that were dotted with rain drops.

Everyone had come to the funeral. That annoying midget and his other half Yami, Bakura's own other half Ryou, and of course Marik's other 'friends' (aka Yugi's friends) came as well, as did his sister and adopted brother.

They all had tears in their eyes; some even allowing them to fall. But Bakura refused to as it was 'embarrassing' enough that his heart wouldn't let him get away with not attending the funeral. Crying would only make him look even more foolish.

While everyone else was around, anyway.

"Damn you, Ishtar!" He cursed, trying to cancel out the pure anguish in his voice, "I told you I was going to be the one to die first! Why do you never listen?!"

Bakura could almost hear Marik reply with some sort of snide remark, such as the usual 'I don't have to listen to you'. But he knew he could never, ever hear that voice again.

But it wasn't the fact that Marik had died that was scarring his heart.

It was the fact that he'd been so close to telling Marik his true feelings, and the boy had died.

Everyone had been shocked when Bakura had arrived at the cemetery. They knew he'd changed; that he was a better person. But they never would've thought he'd go to a funeral, no matter who's it was.

The cause of death obviously hadn't been natural. That much should've been clear long ago.

Apparently, Marik was walking home, and a few 'bullies' decided to 'pick on him'. However, the plan backfired when the 'seemingly-almost-harmless' prank resulted in the boy's death.

He'd gone into a coma and never woken up. Shortly afterwards, he was presumed brain dead.

The doctors had called Bakura (as the thief himself had been the one to find the unconscious Egyptian) and informed him of this, gently asking if he wished to pull the plug, since Bakura had told the doctors he was a relative of Marik's (how they were fooled by that, he'd never know).

Reluctantly, Bakura agreed and went to the hospital to do so. One last glance at the lifeless look on Marik's face. His lips were blue, no longer soft pink and curled up into a haughty smirk.

It had pained Bakura a great deal, but he kept his emotions on the inside. The nurse there had seen that as she'd comforted Bakura after he'd pulled the plug, but he ignored her and simply strode out.

Now, here he was, gazing upon the grave of the same boy who was graced with his affection.

Or was going to be.

"I hate you, Marik." Bakura announced as he knelt in front of the grave. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Crying was for fools. He needed to hold his emotions in.

But, for the first time, Bakura found it hard to do so. The promise that he'd never see those bright violet eyes again caused his eyes to fill even more.

And for the first time, tears slowly slipped down Bakura's face.

He'd never cried before, aside from when he was a child in Ancient Egypt. There had been no reason to cry. Pain? A petty thing to cry over. Bakura had found it almost natural to feel pain.

But not emotional pain.

"I hate you!"

Bakura no longer cared if anyone saw him in front of Marik's gravestone, crying out in anguish. He no longer cared if someone saw tears glistening on his pale cheeks.

If Marik wasn't there, he didn't care.

He'd mock those who acted 'lovesick', saying that they were simply pawns being used. Bakura would never classify himself as lovesick.

But others would.


Three Month Later...


White roses dangled from Bakura's hand as he made his way towards the grave he'd visit each month. The red ones had either wilted long ago or been blown away by some storm.

As he placed the soft white flowers onto the dirt, Bakura couldn't help but glare at deceased boy's name.

Marik Ishtar.

The same Marik Ishtar he'd fallen in love with. The same Marik Ishtar he tried to convince himself he hated, but failed miserably. The same Marik Ishtar who - despite the youth's mightier-than-thou personality - gained his affections.

"I hate you, Marik."

A ghost of a smile fluttered across Bakura's face.

"I really do. Make room for me in hell, will you?"


Review? Try to be gentle, please. I'm kind of sensitive. Just don't be blunt is what I'm saying. If you enjoyed this story, that's wonderful and I really appreciate that. If you disliked it, please give a valid reason as to why you disliked it. All flames/hate will be reported. Thank you for reading, and goodbye!

(Also, for those who believe it is calming to pull the plug for a loved one: We're all different. Some might find it calming, and others might find it just as sad as Bakura did. So, no reviews about it, please?)